


Flying, Not Falling

by sajaat



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, Sort of crossover with Sherlock, Spoilers for S2E3 The Reichenbach Fall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:03:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sajaat/pseuds/sajaat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>WARNING: Spoilers for Sherlock S2E3, The Reichenbach fall.</b>
</p><p>For <a href="http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/3282.html?thread=3213010#cmt3213010">this</a> prompt over at the cabinpres_fic meme.</p><p>A minor accident leaves Martin in a coma.  When he wakes, he finds that he doesn't quite feel like himself...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

He wakes in a strange room. Feeling oddly detached from his body, he blinks slowly, trying to work out where he is. The room is dimly lit and feels quiet, though he can hear a hissing in his ears. He’s aware of something in his throat, but he can’t really feel it and he can’t bring himself to be bothered by it. A kind looking young woman is watching him from the foot of the bed. Martin closes his eyes, feeling incredibly tired. He dreams of spreading his wings and flying.

The next time he wakes the young woman has been replaced by a man. The room is still eerily quiet, and there’s still something in his throat. A feeling of overwhelming sadness and loss washes over him, and Martin blinks away a tear.  
The man approaches and smiles at him.

“Hello, Martin.”

Martin just looks at him and blinks again, unsure what else to do.

“I’m Paul. You’re in the intensive care unit at Fitton hospital. I’m one of the doctors. I know it’s all a bit scary, but you’re okay. Are you in any pain?”

He gives this some consideration. Everything feels weird, as if his brain is in someone else’s body. There’s no pain though. He shakes his head a little.

“Good.” Paul smiles again. “That means we’re doing our job properly. I’m going to examine you now, Martin. Then I’ll explain what’s been happening and what we’re going to do next. Okay?”

Martin nods. He watches as Paul moves around the bed, checking machines, listening to his chest, looking in his eyes, asking him to wiggle his toes and squeeze his fingers, and getting him to cough. He’s hardly done anything, but by the end of it Martin is exhausted.

“Alright, Martin. That’s all good, you’re doing well. We’ve been helping you to breathe through a tube in your throat, and we’ve had to sedate you for that. That’s why you feel a bit sleepy. You’re doing most of the work on your own now, though. I’m going to take the tube out and then we’ll be able to let you wake up properly, okay?”

He nods again, wondering if he really has a choice. He drifts in and out of sleep while Paul prepares things, dreaming of running through unfamiliar streets and it’s exhilarating.

He wakes to find a group of people around his bed. Paul is talking over him, chattering away while he works. Martin can’t be bothered to follow the words, and shuts his eyes. There’s a memory of a hand in his, warm and dry; he knows he should be comforted by it, but all he feels is regret.

Then the tube is gone, and he coughs a little. His lungs feel stiff and his throat is dry. He doesn’t remember breathing ever being this difficult.

Paul touches his shoulder.

“All done, Martin. Perfect. I’m just going to pop some oxygen on to help you breathe. You’re doing really well. Just relax.”

Martin closes his eyes again. The oxygen from the mask feels like wind on his face. He imagines that he’s stood high up on a ledge. He tries to look down but he can’t see the ground through the tears in his eyes. All he wants to do is step back from the edge, to go home and not be alone, but he can’t. Instead, he leaps and he _flies_.


	2. Fitton General

Douglas took a deep breath before stepping through the doors of Fitton General Hospital. God, he hated hospitals. That was what had finished him off as a medical student. The first three years had flown by in a blur of drunken parties and rugby. He’d worked hard, played harder and it had been fun. Even dissection hadn’t been too bad, once he got used to the smell. Then they were sent out on clinical attachments and he had hated every single moment of it. Medicine wasn’t about making people better, it was about death and failure and delaying the inevitable. Douglas liked being in control, and hospitals made him feel powerless. He’d dropped out of university, and had made an admirable job of avoiding hospitals ever since.

Right up until the moment Martin had slipped on the wet floor in the terminal at the airfield, and tripped over the yellow ‘caution wet floor’ sign.

He shuddered as he recalled the sound Martin’s head had made when it connected with the concrete. Douglas had been about to laugh at the younger man’s attempts at keeping his balance. It had taken him a long couple of seconds to go down, arms flailing wildly in the style of a drunken windmill. Then he’d hit the floor, and hadn’t moved. Years of first aid and basic life support training had kicked in, and the next ten minutes had flown by in a blur. It was only when the paramedics had arrived and taken over that he realised he was shaking. He had climbed in his car in a daze, followed the ambulance, and then had set foot in a hospital for the first time in ten years.

That was over a week ago. A long, horrible week of the sort that Douglas hoped he would never have to go through again.

Martin had been in a coma for two days, and no-one had been able to explain why. CT and MRI scans, lumbar punctures, endless blood tests - the result of every investigation was normal. Every specialist had been baffled. The force of the blow to his head should have rattled him and maybe given him a mild concussion. It should not have put him in intensive care, unable to breathe for himself.

The doctors had gone to great lengths to warn Douglas that unexplained coma was a bad thing. That Martin’s chances of waking without some degree of neurological damage were small. And then Martin, the unluckiest man Douglas had ever met, had surprised them by doing just that. Despite being tired and weak, and picking up a minor chest infection from his time on the ventilator, Martin had slowly woken up and seemed none the worse for his experience. He’d been moved out of ICU after four days and onto a neurology ward where he’d spent a further four days in a bay with three other men all of whom were at least twice his age and suffering from varying degrees of dementia. The ward was worse than the sterile, mechanical environment of ICU; it embodied everything Douglas hated about medicine and hospitals.

Through all of this, Douglas forced himself to go and visit Martin daily.

He told himself it was because no-one else had. Carolyn had a distraught Arthur to cope with, but had still managed to visit a couple of times. A student from the shared house had even dropped by with a card from all of them. There had been no sign of Martin’s family though. He knew that Carolyn had contacted his sister; she was clearly unhappy when she announced, thin lipped and angry, that Martin’s family would not be visiting. Douglas wasn’t sure what to make of that. He wasn’t that close to his own brother anymore, but if anything like this ever happened to him he would be there in a heartbeat.

Douglas had decided that if no-one else was going to be there for Martin, then he would have to do it himself. He’d cancelled all his plans, and had gone to the hospital every single day. With each visit he found himself hating it just a little bit more. Even as it became apparent that Martin was going to be alright, he found that his mood darkened with every journey from the car park to the ward.

Today, though, was different. He greeted the volunteers by the main entrance with a cheerful ‘good afternoon’ and donated £10 to the scanner appeal. He even put a little effort into flirting with the nurses at the front desk as he made his way onto the ward.

Martin was sat on his bed clutching a green carrier bag containing his belongings. He looked tired, but managed a small smile when he saw Douglas approaching.

“Ready to go, Martin?”

“Captain!” A voice boomed from across the room. A man in pyjamas was standing to attention and saluting in Douglas’ general direction.

“Bloody hell, it happens everywhere, doesn’t it?” Martin’s smile broadened a little. “Mind you, Terry thought that Ethel was an admiral earlier.”

“Ethel?”

“The tea lady.”

“Ah. The lovely Ethel.”

Ethel had taken quite a shine to Douglas. She was at least ninety and her hair was the same alarming shade of purple as her tabard. Her advances toward him had been borderline terrifying. Still, she had kept him supplied with coffee and biscuits during the first day on the ward when Martin had been too exhausted to stay awake for more than fifteen minutes at a time, and for that he was grateful.

“Come on, then.” Douglas took the bag off Martin. “Ready?”

Martin nodded.

“Thanks for doing this, Douglas.”

"It’s my pleasure, Captain Crieff.” He gave Martin a small salute. “Now lets get the hell out of here before they change their minds.”

 

The walk to the car was painful. It was horrible to see Martin moving so slowly. The doctor had explained to that it would take him some time to get over his stint in ICU, but Douglas didn’t think it would be this bad. He was just grateful that he had managed to persuade the younger man to come and stay with him. It seemed unlikely that Martin would be able to climb the stairs to his attic, let alone look after himself in this state. 

Martin was silent until the Lexus was purring along the ring road, well clear of the hospital. Douglas thought he’d fallen asleep.

“Are you sure about this? You can just drop me off at the house if you want.” Martin was staring straight ahead, refusing to meet Douglas’ incredulous look.

“Martin, they’re only releasing you on the condition that you have someone to stay with.”

“I know, but... well, they wouldn’t know, would they? I mean, it’s alright if you’ve changed your mind.”

Douglas thought about Martin’s absent family, and found himself feeling surprisingly protective of his young captain.

“Absolutely not, Martin. You’ll stay with me until we can get you back on your feet, no matter how long that takes.”

“Right. Okay. Umm... thanks.” Martin sounded quiet and worried but he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, obviously uncomfortable.

Douglas wondered if Martin was troubled by the same thing he was. It was the elephant in the room that they’d both been carefully ignoring in favour of playing word games and thinking of inappropriate songs to request on the hospital radio station. The cause of Martin’s coma remained unexplained, and he had been told not to drive until he’d been cleared by his neurologist. And while it was difficult to be a man-with-a-van when you couldn’t drive, it was impossible to be a pilot if you weren’t allowed to fly.


	3. 5C Bakery Lane

_The tears in his eyes are not caused by the wind in his face. He can’t remember ever feeling this unbelievably sad before. So much regret, but he knows that there’s no other way. He spreads his arms out, takes a deep breath and allows himself to topple forwards. It’s exhilarating, for a moment he’s flying. But the ground is rushing up towards him, and there’s not enough time..._

Martin blinked awake with a jolt. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing his racing heart to slow down. It was just a dream. The feelings of regret and anger dissipated as he took in his surroundings. 

Douglas’ flat. He could barely remember the journey up from the car. Douglas practically had to carry him in; at least there was a lift. He had protested against going to bed, and then promptly fallen asleep on the sofa. How embarrassing. Still, the sofa was soft and comfortable, and he felt more rested than he had since waking up in the hospital. The patchwork blanket covering him was his own from his attic. Douglas must have fetched it when he had collected some clothes and toiletries for him.

There was the faint sound of a radio chattering away, and the smell of cooking drifted from the kitchen.

Martin slowly sat up and looked round. He hadn’t visited Douglas’ new flat before. He’d only been to the old house once, and that had been pretty disastrous. He still felt a bit guilty about what had happened, even though he knew he couldn’t possibly be held responsible for Helena’s over-enthusiasm for Tai Chi.

The flat was sparsely but tastefully furnished, and smelled vaguely of new carpets. It felt a bit like a hotel, albeit a much nicer hotel than Martin had ever stayed in himself. He couldn’t imagine living somewhere like this though. The space would be nice but it was so impersonal; his attic was tiny, cluttered with his few possessions, but at least it felt like home.

Douglas emerged from the kitchen with a mug and placed it on the coffee table in front of Martin.

“Good to see you’re finally back with us, sleeping beauty. Dinner will be ready in about forty minutes. How are you feeling?”

“Better.” It was true. His limbs still felt heavy and his ribs ached, but at least he no longer felt like his head was stuffed with cotton wool. “Sorry about that. I don’t know how I can still be tired.”

“Don’t worry about it. Everyone knows it’s impossible to sleep in hospital. It’s a design feature.”

“Eric actually got into bed with me last night.”

“Ugh.” Douglas shuddered, then sat in the leather armchair. “How much do you remember?”

“About Eric?”

“About the rest of it.”

“Not much, really. Apparently that’s pretty normal. Something to do with the drugs. They gave me a leaflet.” Martin fished the two booklets from the hospital out of the green carrier bag and handed the one entitled ‘Your stay in ICU’ to Douglas. The other he kept for himself.

‘Your intensive care diary’. It was supposed to help him come to terms with everything that had happened to him. He wasn’t sure about that. Still, it was nice to see that people had bothered to visit him when he was unconscious. Martin flicked through it for a while, reading the entries from nursing staff and visitors.  
He was holding concrete evidence in his hands that he had friends, people that actually cared about him. And yet he was certain there was someone missing. He had no idea who, because frankly the diary contained more entries, from more people than he ever would have imagined. Many of them were in his first officer’s cursive handwriting. He was genuinely touched and surprised by Douglas’ almost constant presence.

“You came every day.” He held the diary up so that Douglas knew what he was talking about.

“Well someone had to. If for no other reason than to fill out your diary.” Douglas drawled, not looking up from his reading.

“I think this one from Carolyn is my favourite. ‘If you don’t stop lazing about and get yourself back to work, I’m going to halve your wages.’”

“Yes. I’m not sure the nurses knew what to make of that one.”

“It’s a shame Arthur didn’t visit, he’d have probably filled it out in glitter glue and sequins.” Martin smiled. “Either that or spaghetti hoops.”

Douglas looked up, suddenly somber.

“He was too upset, Martin. For the first few days no-one knew what was going to happen to you. They thought... Well, Carolyn and I thought it was for the best to keep Arthur away.”

“No, no, no!” Martin was horrified “No. I didn’t mean it like that. I understand why he didn’t visit. I... just...” He took a deep breath and tried again. “I suppose I thought no-one else would visit either. I never thought anyone would miss me enough.”

“Martin, you are our friend. Don’t you ever forget that.” Douglas said, looking genuinely sincere for once. “And besides, what would MJN do without our illustrious Captain?”

Martin felt the bottom drop out of his world.

“Oh God, Douglas. I’ve been so selfish, I hadn’t even thought about that. I can’t even fly as a passenger yet. What about the Munich trip? Where’s Carolyn going to get another pilot from? I mean, there are plenty of pilots out there, but... well... I’m not sure she can afford to...” 

“Martin...”

Douglas’ sympathetic tone was the last straw.

“I can’t even drive, Douglas. I’m not going to be much good to anyone if...” He blinked furiously, trying to clear the tears that had suddenly filled his eyes. “I might never fly again. What’s going to happen if they won’t let me fly?”

Douglas sat beside him and pulled him into a hug, holding him as he sobbed uncontrollably. They sat like that for ages until he ran out of tears. Douglas was warm and comfortable, and Martin could hear his heart beating steadily through the now slightly damp shirt. It was calming, and it felt nice.  
Martin realised he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had held him. Well, there was Eric in the hospital last night, but that definitely didn’t count. He tried not to giggle.

“Herc has agreed to cover for the time being,” Martin felt the low rumble of Douglas’ voice. “And I think Carolyn has plenty of novel ideas about how to pay him.”

“Douglas!” Martin wriggled free of the hug to glare at him. “I’ve only just got out of hospital. What are you trying to do to me?” The horror was genuine, and he managed to give Douglas a smile that felt only slightly wobbly.

Douglas refused to be distracted by his lame attempt at humour.

“We’ll sort the rest of it out when you’ve seen the neurologist again.” He said gently, placing his hand on Martin’s shoulder. “When I said you could stay until you’re back on your feet I meant it. However long that takes.”

Martin knew he should feel grateful for the offer, but he didn’t want Douglas’ charity. Despite the fact he had nowhere else to go right now, he couldn’t bear the thought of having to rely on anyone like that. There must be a way round it. He would speak to his landlord. Nine years of always paying the rent on time, of fixing the electrics, of being the only one with an understanding of how to clean a house. It must count for something. He would stay here for a few days, until he felt a bit stronger, and then get out of Douglas’ hair.

“Douglas, I...” Martin started. 

Suddenly everything around him snapped into focus. The plain white walls of the flat, the soulless Ikea furniture. Everything in the place was new, even the crockery. Yet Martin knew with absolute certainty that Helena had taken nothing when she left Douglas. That somehow that had made it worse. That Douglas couldn’t stand rattling around the empty house alone. The move to the flat was supposed to be a new start, to make things better but instead had only served to rub salt in the wound. Two bedrooms, one permanently empty, meant for the daughter he hardly ever saw. No photos anywhere. The only personal item in the living room was Martin’s own blanket.  
Then there was Douglas himself, looking tired and old out of his MJN uniform. Wearing an apron, clearly a gift from his daughter, that had only been used four times. Douglas had obviously jumped at the rare opportunity to cook a meal for someone other than himself.   
One word screamed out in Martin’s mind, over and over again: _Lonely._

“Martin?” Douglas frowned at him, obviously worried.

“Sorry. I just...” He blinked a couple of times, and everything returned to normal. Where on earth had that come from? They had never discussed any of that stuff, but Martin just _knew_ he was right. For the first time ever, Douglas might actually need his help. And it would be nice to share a flat with someone over the age of 21. He swallowed his pride.

“Thanks. That’s really generous of you.”

“Not that generous.” Douglas raised an eyebrow. “I hope you’re good at washing up.”


	4. The 19th Hole

It was two weeks since Martin had been released from the hospital. Douglas was surprised at how quickly he’d become accustomed to having a flat-mate. He supposed it was because they were used to spending so much time with each other. Martin could be remarkably good company when he wanted to be, and he was much less annoying away from the rules and regulations of the cockpit. They laughed at bad television, argued about films, and of course played word games. Douglas was attempting to teach Martin how to do cryptic crosswords. In return Martin had worked out how to tune Douglas’ fancy DAB stereo and was trying to introduce him to popular music. Douglas was suspiciously close to feeling happy, and found himself wondering how he could persuade Martin to stay. He suspected it wouldn’t be too difficult.

Despite his initial reluctance to move in, Martin now seemed to be trying to be the ideal house guest. He must have taken the comment about washing up to heart, because he was doing as much of the housework as Douglas would let him. The other day Douglas had returned from standby at the airfield to find Martin dozing at the breakfast bar in the kitchen while a pan of curry simmered away on the cooker. Just for a moment, he’d allowed himself the luxury of enjoying not returning to an empty flat and a microwave meal. Then he’d woken Martin, and told him off for attempting to do too much too soon.

As much as he enjoyed living with Martin, Douglas found himself almost constantly worried about his well-being. He was still more pale and thin than usual, and he tired easily. Things were improving though, and he was following the instructions of the physiotherapists as though they were flight protocols. Physically, Martin would probably be fine in another week or two. Mentally, Douglas wasn’t quite so sure. He suspected that the younger man was having nightmares, although he hadn’t said anything. In fact, he had hardly spoken about his experience at all. Sometimes Douglas caught him staring into space looking so sad that Douglas just wanted to protect him from whatever he was thinking about, but whenever Douglas brought it up Martin refused to talk about it. Other than these non-specific concerns, Martin appeared to be taking every hurdle in his stride. There had been no tears since that first day, and he never complained about anything, no matter how upsetting.

Last week was an example of this. Martin had contacted the DVLA to ask for advice on when he would be able to drive again. They had demanded that he return his license and banned him from driving for six months. Martin had calmly told Douglas what had happened, and asked him if he’d mind helping him to move his belongings out of the student house.

They had taken the van to Parkside Terrace and Douglas emptied the attic with the help of the students. They seemed to be genuinely fond of their resident pilot, and had been worried about him. Martin was allowed to direct operations, but hadn’t been allowed to carry anything heavier than his teddy bear. He looked so tired and sad that no-one had even teased him.

The next day, on Martin’s instructions, Douglas drove the van to the airfield and parked it behind Gerti’s hangar where it would be out of the way. Martin had declared the vehicle off road in order to claim the tax back, and hadn’t mentioned the van or the attic since.

Douglas wasn’t sure whether he should be impressed by Martin’s apparent resilience or concerned by it. He suspected that if his world had been turned upside down in this manner he would be taking it all rather less well. Douglas really hoped it wasn’t an act, because today had the potential to be horrible.

Today Martin had an appointment with the local aeromedical examiner. It was a preliminary meeting to discuss whether he would be permanently disqualified from flying due to recent events. Douglas had given him a lift, claiming that he had things to do in the same part of the city as the doctor’s office. He had the distinct feeling that Martin knew he was just going to wait in the car park, but neither of them mentioned it. So he sat in the car ignoring the radio and failing to do the crossword. He wasn’t nervous about this. Absolutely not. Whatever happened, Martin would be fine, he would see to it himself. He just didn’t know how.

He’d been sat there for two long hours when he was roused from his thoughts by the sound of the passenger door being opened. Martin got in the car looking tired and drawn.

“Well?” Douglas said gently, trying to contain his impatience.

“He’s never seen anything like this before. I don’t fit in any of the guidelines. Made me do all these bloody tests, that’s why it took so long. I was _rubbish_ at them, Douglas. Probably would have been rubbish at them before.” Martin sighed.

“Martin. What did he actually say?”

“I’ve got to come back again in six months. He’ll talk to my neurologist, do some more tests and then decide whether this,” He gestured vaguely at his head. “Whatever it is, is disqualifying.”

“That’s not a no.” Douglas pointed out, feeling immensely relieved at the tiny bit of good news.

“No. I suppose not.” Martin seemed to relax a bit at that and the corner of his mouth twitched into a small smile. “No, it isn’t, is it?”

Douglas thought for a moment. This was the first time Martin had been out of the flat since they had emptied the attic last week. He looked tired but not exhausted. The visit to the doctors hadn’t been a total disaster.

“If you want to go straight home all you have to do is say the word. However, I think this calls for cake.” He suggested.

“Are you still trying to fatten me up, Douglas?”

“Not at all. I just thought a little celebration might be in order, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“Chocolate cake?”

“Oh, the chocolatey-est chocolate cake you can imagine.”

Douglas was relieved to see Martin smile properly at that.

“Really? Because I can imagine very chocolatey cake.”

* * *

Douglas drove them to a coffee shop on the outskirts of Fitton. It was a lovely little place, overlooking the golf course and within walking distance of the flat. Since the divorce he’d spent every Saturday morning here when he wasn’t flying. Of course, he hadn’t been since Martin’s accident. He’d genuinely missed the place; the coffee was excellent and the cake was divine. Douglas had an ulterior motive in bringing Martin here, though. The proprietor was a force of nature, a spry lady in her seventies with the ability to mother absolutely anyone. He thought Martin could probably use a bit of that right now. And next week MJN would be flying for the first time since Martin's illness. He knew Carolyn couldn’t afford to cancel any more trips, although he suspected she would do it if he asked her to. He would be away for four nights and he was worried about leaving Martin alone, stranded in the flat, unable to drive anywhere and with no-one to talk to. The 19th Hole might just provide the solution he was looking for.

He smiled as he pushed the door open, ready to put his plan into action.

“Douglas!”

“Mrs Fraser, a pleasure as always.” He bent forward and kissed her on the cheek.

“And who’s your young man?”

“He’s not my young man, Mrs Fraser. This is Martin Crieff. We’re in need of cake.”

“Cake? Douglas, look at him! He needs a proper meal, not cake. Haven’t you been feeding him?”

She already had her arm around Martin, leading him towards a table by the counter.

“Here you go, Martin.” She pushed a menu into Martin’s hands. “I know it’s after 11:30, but if you fancy a breakfast, I’ll rustle one up for you. You look like you could use a proper meal.”

Martin flopped down into the nearest chair. He was starting to look flustered, staring wide-eyed at Douglas for help. It was such a familiar expression that it made Douglas want to hug Mrs Fraser in gratitude. Instead he took pity on Martin and decided to rescue him.

“Mrs Fraser,” He took her by the elbow and gently started to move her away. “Martin here has been a bit under the weather recently. I’m trying to get him out and about a bit more, not utterly overwhelm him.”

“Oh you poor thing.” She still hadn’t taken her eyes off Martin, although she appeared to have taken the hint and was allowing Douglas to steer her back towards the counter. “Don’t you worry, I’m sure Douglas will look after you. I’ll leave the two of you in peace. Just remember, dear, you can have anything you want off the menu.”

Douglas sat opposite Martin, smiling at the younger man’s bewildered expression.

“Don’t worry about it, she’s always like that. She’s also the reason I put on a stone after the divorce. The breakfasts are terribly good.”

“You promised me cake,” Martin had a determined look on his face. “And I want a proper coffee. It was nice of you to get decaf in for me, but...”

“It tastes like dishwater.” Douglas finished for him. Martin had been advised to limit his caffeine intake since the accident; it was the only thing he had complained about in the two weeks since he’d been released from the hospital. “Yes, you did mention it. Mrs Fraser, a pot of coffee and two slices of chocolate cake, please.”

 

They sat in comfortable silence, drinking coffee and eating cake. They spoke only to request another section of the paper, or to offer suggestions for the crossword. Douglas felt more relaxed than he had done in weeks, and Martin seemed to be holding up well.

It was all going well until the door swung open and a woman strode in. She looked to be in her mid-forties, and was pretty in a yacht club sort of way. She ordered a take-out coffee, and chattered quietly to Mrs Fraser while she was preparing it. Douglas watched as she emptied a few items from her handbag onto the counter, before pulling out an A5 poster which she started to attach to the notice board by the cash register. It offered a £500 reward for the return of a small, yappy looking dog.

Martin looked up her, and Douglas felt a sudden sense of uneasiness. It seemed ridiculous, but Martin just didn’t look like Martin. He had a cold, calculating look on his face that Douglas had never seen before.

“Your daughter has the dog.” Martin stated.

“What?” She turned towards them, obviously surprised.

“Your daughter. Took the dog. She’s been staying with her father, your ex-husband, since the separation, right?”

She nodded silently.

“They have... _Fifi_.” He read the name from the poster with a level of disdain Douglas didn’t think Martin was capable of.

“But I _asked_ Derek about it.” She protested.

“He lied. Your daughter stole the dog when she visited last week. He went along with it because he wants to punish you. You kept the house and the dog, but not your daughter. You threw him out, and moved your new girlfriend in. He’s angry that you would break up your family for an experiment with lesbianism that he thinks is just a phase. He’s right, I’m afraid. You should go and apologise.”

She nodded mutely, then fled the shop in tears, stuffing her belongings back in her bag as she went.

“Martin! What the hell was that?” Douglas finally found his voice.

“It’s obvious.” Martin’s attention had returned to the paper. He didn’t even look up.

“Not to me it isn’t, Martin, and I suspect it isn’t to her either. What on earth were you thinking?” Douglas was aware that he was raising his voice and speaking to Martin like he was a child but he was worried and angry, and this was all so out of character. “You can’t just go round accusing people of...”

“Dog hair.” Martin sounded bored.

“What?” Douglas gaped.

“She had dog hair on her jacket and top, but not the rest of her clothes.”

“So?”

“So the clothes she washes herself are clean, but not the dry clean items. It’s a summer jacket. Given the weather recently, she’ll only have been wearing it for the past five weeks or so. The dog went missing last week.”

Douglas snuck a glance at the poster now dangling precariously by one pin. There was no mention of the date that Fifi had gone missing.

“And it’s also obvious that she’s got a daughter?” He asked.

“Of course. Her shoes, handbag, jacket all match. Her purse didn’t, it was a gift from her daughter, but she looked sad when she took it out to pay for the coffee. Like the daughter no longer lives with her.”

Douglas could feel his eyebrows climbing in disbelief.

“Give me your keys.” Martin commanded.

Douglas reluctantly pulled his keys from his pocket. They were held together by a keyring that his own daughter had given him, and he treasured it. Even though he’d had it for years and most of the foil stars had fallen off, it had clearly been made by a young girl. He still couldn’t look at it without feeling regret. Martin took the keys from him and placed them on the table. He looked into Douglas’ eyes, and for a moment he felt like he was having his soul read. It was captivating and terrifying at the same time, and he couldn’t look away.

“She had that look too, when she took her purse out.” Martin finally broke eye contact, his voice more gentle now. “The keys explain the rest of it. Her keys were all old, as was her keyring. She hasn’t moved house recently. Look.” Martin fished his own keys out of his pocket and placed them on the table next to Douglas’s. The new keys he’d had cut for Martin looked bright and shiny in comparison to his own.

Douglas took a deep breath and pressed on, determined to get to the bottom of this odd behaviour. 

“Dare I ask why you accused her of being a lesbian? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but...”

“Tattoos.” Martin sounded bored again.

“What?”

“She has new tattoos and piercings, about three weeks old, I’d say. So a change of direction, a bit of a mid-life crisis maybe. The style suggests a girlfriend rather than boyfriend, but she’s still not sure because...” Martin's eyes fluttered closed and he swallowed before trying again. “Because...”

“Because what, Martin?” Douglas prompted. The worry was back in full force.

“The daughter.” He said quietly. “She wouldn’t have sent her away if she was sure, would she?” Martin sounded uncertain, and when he looked up at Douglas he looked like Martin again.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine, fine. I’m...” He stammered. “Oh, God. Douglas... what did I just do?”

“I’m not sure, but I think you just accused a complete stranger of being a terrible wife and mother, based on the state of her wardrobe and the contents of her handbag.”

Martin looked mortified, and he was blushing fiercely. He looked okay, though. Douglas was suddenly less worried that he was about to have some sort of relapse.

“How do you feel?”

“Embarrassed, mostly.” Martin covered his face with his hands. “Why would I do that?”

“I really don’t know. She probably deserved it though. I think we should put it down to too much caffeine and sugar, and pretend it never happened, don’t you?” Douglas decided that it was the stress making itself known and resolved to try harder to get Martin to talk to him. “Come on, let’s go home.”


	5. Chapter 5

Douglas trudged up the stairs to his flat, he wasn’t tired enough to wait for the lift but it was a close thing. Flying with Herc had been a strain on his ego in a way that flying with Martin never was. The stay in the hotel had been... well, the less said about that the better.

“Hi, honey, I’m home.” Douglas called out as he pushed the door open.

“Welcome back, darling. How was work?” Martin replied. He was sprawled on the sofa, reading a book and basking in the early evening sun that streamed through the window. 

“Horrible. I don’t want to talk about it.” Douglas kicked off his shoes and flopped down in the chair.

Martin sat up, turning his attention from the book to Douglas. Douglas wondered when Martin had started reading chemistry books.

“I take it that sharing a hotel room with Arthur is everything I’m imagining it to be?” Martin asked.

Douglas didn’t bother to ask how Martin guessed that. On reflection, he should probably have worked it out himself. The sad thing was that of all the possible combinations and permutations of the current MJN crew, sharing a room with Arthur was actually the best option.

“And more.” Douglas replied. “He sings himself to sleep. It’s no wonder Carolyn’s always in such a ghastly mood. She can’t have slept since the early eighties.”

“You’re going to need some ear plugs.”

“I think horse tranquilisers would be more help. Here,” Douglas pulled a toblerone out of his pocket and threw it to Martin. “A gift for you. Arthur wanted to send you some leftover beef blancmange. I managed to convince him otherwise.”

“Thanks.” Martin ripped the chocolate open. “Want some?”

“No thanks. Did you get up to anything exciting while I was away flying a bunch of rich Americans around Europe?” 

“Sort of.” Martin looked sheepish. “I went back to The 19th Hole.”

“Right...” Douglas prompted with a feeling of dread.

“To apologise, Douglas. Don’t worry.”

“And how did that go?”

“Well. Very well actually. Mrs Fraser offered me a part time job.”

“Really? Your first encounter with one of her customers resulted in said customer running crying from the shop. It’s hardly the most auspicious start.” Douglas was surprised but relieved. He’d taken Martin to the coffee shop in the hope that Mrs Fraser would take him under her wing. Obviously Martin’s uncharacteristic behaviour towards the customer hadn’t put her off; once Mrs Fraser had decided she liked someone it was almost impossible to change her mind. Her giving Martin a job was an unexpected bonus. He’d have to remember to thank her.

“It went a bit better this time. The coffee machine broke, so I fixed it. And the dog-lady came back.”

“Okay...” The feeling of dread refused to leave Douglas alone.

“She gave me the reward money for finding her dog. She was going to leave it with Mrs Fraser, but as I was there...” Martin shrugged. He looked like he didn’t believe it himself.

“She paid you?”

“Five hundred pounds, yes. I was right Douglas. About all of it. She’s moved the girlfriend out and is giving it another go with the husband.” Martin sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “I know... I mean I really know I shouldn’t have spoken to her like that, but... Five hundred pounds. Do you know how long it would take me to earn that with the van?”

Douglas thought that he would probably get less than that if he sold the van. He couldn’t really blame Martin for being excited, the young man deserved a bit of good luck for once.

“Well then, I suppose congratulations are in order, Ace Ventura. Have you worked out what you’re going to spend your winnings on?”

“Spent some of it already.” Martin wandered into his room and returned with a roll of wallpaper and a tin of paint. “I know you won’t let me pay any rent, but I’m going to have a lot of time on my hands and you mentioned that you wanted to decorate in here. Don’t worry, I got enough to do the whole room, not just this.”

“I said that it was a bit boring.” Douglas did want to decorate, he just found that after so many years of going along with his various wives’ interior design ideas, he was unable to form an opinion about what he wanted himself.

“Same thing.”

Douglas grabbed the roll of paper. It looked hideous, all big seventies print. Still, he supposed it was no worse than what Helena had made him do to their bedroom. And Martin looked so eager to please that Douglas couldn’t bring himself to tell him he didn’t like the paper.

“You didn’t have to spend your money on my flat, Martin. And anyway, you’re meant to be taking it easy, not painting and decorating.”

“I’m fine, Douglas. It’ll give me something to do next time you’re away reading bedtime stories to Arthur. I promise not to over do it. Besides, if I’m going to have both you and Mrs Fraser trying to feed me up I should start doing some exercise. I’m going to end up the size of a house if I don’t do something other than lie on your sofa.”

Douglas smiled. Martin usually had so little that it could be easy to overlook how generous he really was.

“Didn’t you get anything for yourself? Douglas asked.

“I bought a coat. For winter.” Martin nodded towards a long dark coloured coat hanging by the door.

Douglas took the coat off the hook and held it up to examine it. He liked the finer things in life and the second Mrs Richardson had liked the very expensive. This coat was clearly both. He couldn’t imagine Martin spending all his earnings in one go and even if he had, Douglas suspected he still wouldn’t have been able to afford such a garment.

“Martin, where did you get this?”

“Charity shop on the high street. They only wanted a tenner for it.”

“Ten pounds?” Douglas’ brain was racing ahead. “You could sell this, buy yourself four very nice coats and still make a large profit.”

“But I like it,” Martin pouted. “And I haven’t had a decent coat since I was about ten. It’s really warm.”

“Does it even fit? It looks a bit big.” Douglas knew just the buyer for it.

Martin scowled at him as he took the coat and put it on. It was a little large, and looked a bit odd over the jeans and t-shirt Martin was wearing but it suited him. It really suited him, actually. Douglas decided he wouldn’t be selling Martin’s new coat any time soon. Probably.

“You haven’t forgotten that we’re going for Chinese tonight to celebrate Arthur’s birthday, have you?” Douglas asked, changing the subject.

“Of course not. I’ve even got him a present. It should perk up your in flight meals no end.”

Douglas looked in horror at the book that Martin had pulled from under the sofa. ‘101 Recipes for Microwave Mug Cakes’.

“Bloody hell, are you trying to kill me?” Douglas protested. “You can’t give him that. He’ll improvise. Quite possibly with washing-up liquid again. I still can’t think of lemon drizzle cake without hiccuping bubbles”.

“What’s it worth?” Martin gave Douglas an evil grin.

“Bribery, Martin? I’m surprised at you.” Douglas was impressed. “How about a little competition? If you can guess more of the fortune cookies than me, you return that horrible book to the charity shop and we never speak of it again.”

Martin’s smile grew wider.

“Okay.” He said confidently. “You’re on.”


	6. Chapter 6

Carolyn pulled her jacket tighter around herself and turned her little halogen heater on, allowing herself to bask in its orange glow. It was freezing outside, but at least she could heat her office. She’d closed the door to keep the warmth in, but she could still keep an eye on activities in the main part of the portacabin through the small window. Herc was huddled over a desk, his breath coming out in small frustrated clouds, trying to do his paperwork without taking his gloves off. Arthur seemed unbothered by the cold, and was instead trying to blow ‘smoke’ rings with his breath. At least, she hoped that was what he was trying to achieve.

The door of her office rattled as the main door to the portacabin blew open, admitting Douglas Richardson and a small flurry of snowflakes.

“You’re late!” She called out.

Douglas smiled at her as he pulled on her office door and wedged it open with his foot.

“Good morning to you too, Carolyn.”

“What do you want, Douglas.” She was trying not to scowl at him, she really was, but she could practically see the lovely warm air escaping her office. Honestly, the man was responsible for as many of her wrinkles as Arthur was. 

“Actually, I was wondering if you would all like to join Martin and I for Christmas drinks this evening.” Douglas said.

“No I would not.” She ignored Arthur’s happy shout. “It’s bad enough having to spend all day with you. Why on earth would I want to ruin my evening as well?” 

“But, _Mum_ , it’ll be like a party.” Arthur protested.

“Indeed it will, Arthur. It will be just like a party. It will be so much like a party that it will, in fact, be a party. Martin got his license back today.” Douglas told him.

“Brilliant!” Arthur started dancing.

“Oh thank God for that.” Herc sighed. “When’s he coming back? I’m so cold I can’t feel my fingers.”

Carolyn had been planning on taking Herc out for dinner at a gourmet vegetarian restaurant followed by a film at the local independent cinema; she decided he didn’t deserve either after that comment.

“Alright then, just this once. And only out of morbid curiosity about the twisted version of domestic bliss the two of you have going on. I don’t intend to make a habit of socialising with my underlings. Herc, get on with your work, the runway is still open for now and in theory we may be called upon at any moment to take Mr Johnson to Madrid. Before you ask, no you may not have another piece of coal for the fire. Arthur, do not, under any circumstances, cook anything for tonight. No cakes, no cookies, and definitely no donuts. Is that understood?” She waited for their mumbled assent before turning back to Douglas. “Right then, come in and close the door.”

Carolyn waited for him to take the seat opposite her.

“When did all this happen?” She asked, studying him carefully, looking out for any sign that he was lying. The prospect of having Martin back delighted her, and not just because he was free. She just wanted to be certain that Douglas wasn’t up to anything before she allowed herself to celebrate.

“The paperwork arrived this morning. He was cleared by the doctors about a month ago, but he didn’t want me to say anything until he’d passed the flight tests and got everything in writing.”

“And this has nothing to do with the golf equipment, wine and cigars I most definitely haven’t noticed us carrying the past couple of months? Goodness knows I want to help the boy out, but there are some corners that even I am not prepared to cut.”

Douglas looked surprised and Carolyn resisted the urge to slap him. Surely he didn’t think she was that much of an idiot?

“It’s all above board, Carolyn. I merely expedited the process. Getting the right paperwork and waiting to see all the right people can take months. I just happen to know a man...”

“Who knows a man.” She finished for him. “Of course you do. What I don’t understand is why Martin isn’t here telling me the good news in person.” Or even why Martin wasn’t sat in GERTI this very moment, ridiculous hat jammed on his head, desperate to fly even the shortest distance. 

“I erm... _accidentally_ picked up his post with mine this morning. He doesn’t know yet.” Douglas explained. “I wanted to surprise him.” He added lamely.

“Really? This isn’t some sort of bet or competition?” Carolyn tried not to smile. Douglas was nearly as much of a big softie as she was.

“I’m hurt Carolyn. How could you think such a thing?” 

Douglas didn’t look hurt, but he did look slightly less smug than usual. Carolyn decided she would believe him, for now.

“All right, then.” She said. “We’re not flying again until after Christmas so he can start back then. I’ll talk to him about it later. Now get out of my office, and do some work.”

* * *

Carolyn leaned back on the sofa and took another sip of wine, enjoying the warm glow that wasn’t entirely due to alcohol. The sounds of ‘ooh’ and ‘brilliant’ drifted through the door from the balcony where Arthur and Herc were stargazing.

The evening had been surprisingly relaxing. Douglas was, of course, a fantastic host when he wanted to be. Martin had glowed all night, first with sheer delight and then with the champagne that she had bought for him. They’d all shared increasingly outrageous aviation anecdotes and Carolyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone except herself, and then only with the help of alcohol, but MJN were family. Her family. And they’d missed Martin. Unlikely as it seemed, he had become their captain in his own panicky, prissy way. Herc’s calm leadership hadn’t quite cut the mustard.   
She was also looking forward to her relationship with Herc becoming considerably less professional again. It was difficult working with someone you were trying to have a relationship with, especially when one had a reputation as alpha dog to maintain.

Now, several hours later, the champagne had gone, as had most of the nibbles that Douglas had picked up on the way home. Even a couple of Arthur’s hastily constructed mints pies (“but Mum, it sounds almost the same”) had been eaten, probably by Martin. She supposed that Polos were one of the more harmless ingredients her son had experimented with, and hoped he wouldn’t regret it too much in the morning.

Carolyn took in her surroundings as she finished her wine. The place was nothing like she expected. It was warm and welcoming, the fairy lights draped over the bookcase and mirror gave out a soft, twinkly light. A badly decorated and wonky tree stood in the corner. An odd selection of pictures and photos adorned the walls. There was an organised clutter in the living room, their possessions mixed together and distributed around the place. It was nothing like the designer minimalism that she had encountered the previous time she had been here and she couldn’t help but be relieved by that. Perhaps it was a natural consequence of living with Arthur, but excessive tidiness freaked her out.

Herc and Arthur were still out on the balcony. Douglas was pottering around in the kitchen, humming something that sounded vaguely operatic. Martin was curled up in the armchair, fast asleep and snoring gently; the champagne had finally got the better of him.

Carolyn took advantage of the peace and quiet to study him. She had never seen Martin look so well. The young man had put on a little weight, and although he was still slight he was no longer painfully thin. His skin remained pale, but his previous pallor was gone; caused, no doubt, by a diet of nothing but pasta and potatoes. It made her feel guilty for not noticing before how unhealthy her captain was, but she honestly had no idea. Nothing to compare it to, she supposed. He’d looked gaunt and pasty for as long as she’d known him. Apparently he had been stuck in his unhealthy lifestyle even before he started at MJN. He looked good now, though. His hair was longer, and had transformed from a manic ginger frizz to a mop of auburn curls. In a moment of weakness that she would never admit to anyone, Carolyn almost got up to brush a stray curl from his forehead.

“He uses styling products, you know.” Douglas’ voice in her ear made her jump. He was smiling at her in a way that made her suspect he knew exactly what she was thinking.

“Douglas! If you’re going to make me jump like that, the least you can do is top me up.” She waved her empty glass in his general direction.

“You don’t want a coffee, then?”

“Goodness, no. Herc’s driving.”

Douglas bowed before heading into the kitchen. He returned moments later with the bottle of wine and a coffee for himself.

She watched as Douglas took the blanket from the back of the sofa and gently covered Martin with it, before sitting next to her.  
Carolyn reflected that Martin wasn’t the only one who had changed. She had never seen Douglas look so well either. He had lost a bit of weight over the past six months, and the frown lines seemed to have lessened. He just looked healthier. She hadn’t given much thought as to why that might be. Tonight, at home, he’d had an air of contentedness that she would never have imagined him capable of and the reason was clear. He didn’t look quite so happy now, though.

“Is he going to move out when he comes back to work?” She asked, guessing at the cause for his sudden melancholy mood.

“We haven’t talked about it.” Douglas didn’t take his eyes off Martin, watching him with a tenderness that made her feel like she was intruding on something.

She thought back to how much time Douglas had spent at the hospital with Martin and how quickly he’d welcomed him into his home. She wondered if Douglas was setting himself up for another heartbreak.

"Is he going to be alright, Douglas?” She asked, despite the fact that Martin wasn’t the one she was worried about. “Is he ready to come back?”

“I don’t know.” Douglas replied in what she recognised a rare moment of honesty. “He’s different. At first I thought it was the money. Not having to worry about paying the rent, or where the next meal was coming from.” He still hadn’t looked away from Martin’s sleeping form. “There’s more to it than that, though. He’s just so much calmer now he isn’t flying. He seems happy.”

Carolyn refrained from pointing out that Martin wasn’t the only one with a newfound happiness.

“You think Martin’s happier because he’s not flying?” She asked. It sounded ridiculous to anyone who knew Martin, but Carolyn reasoned that working part time in a coffee shop was considerably less stressful than being an airline captain. Or even an airdot captain. Particularly if you weren’t especially good at flying.

“Maybe.” Douglas shrugged unhappily. “I suppose we’ll find out for sure in January.”


	7. Paris

_He’s running as fast as he can, lungs burning, legs pumping. His quarry slows at every corner, unsure of the best route, wasting valuable time. He’s about to sprint down a hidden alley and cut the man off when he becomes aware of someone else. A third runner, following him, shouting curses in his direction. If he slows to wait for him, his prey will get away. If he doesn’t, then he knows he will be in all sorts of trouble with the man behind him._

_“Come_ on, _John!”_

Martin woke with a start. His heart was still pounding. He rolled over and looked at his clock. 05:30, the alarm wouldn’t be going off for another hour. The dreams have plagued him since he woke in the hospital. The doctors said it was normal to have nightmares, a side effect of the drugs and the coma, but that they would pass in time. They were wrong. The dreams seemed to be getting more vivid every night.

Sometimes he dreamed of flying, and woke with tears in his eyes. Other times, like tonight, he was running through familiar streets that he never recognised in the morning. In these dreams he was chasing someone, a different person every night. It was exhilarating; the sense of danger overshadowed by the thrill of the chase. There was always someone running behind him, hurling good natured abuse in his general direction. A friend, someone strong and reliable. Until tonight, he had always woken up before he had chance to shout his name. Now he knew. John. Martin tried to work out who he was. As far as he could remember he’d never had a friend called John.

Realising that there was no way he would get back to sleep, Martin flicked on the bedside lamp, quietly got out of bed and dressed in his running gear. It would be dark and cold outside, but he liked the solitude of the early morning. He had taken up running a few months ago, pounding the streets of Fitton in an attempt to recreate the excitement of the dreams. It hadn’t worked yet, but at least he could eat the food Mrs Fraser forced upon him without guilt. 

Martin crept out of his room, carefully avoiding the squeaky floorboard, not wanting to wake Douglas. 

He was surprised to find the older man huddled under a blanket on the sofa, reading in the dim light of the lamp. The stereo was on so low that Martin could barely hear it. 

“Good morning, Martin. Too excited to sleep?” Douglas looked like he’d been there for some time.

“Something like that. Thought I’d go for a run. What are you doing up?”

“My eager anticipation of Sir’s first flight woke me early. Either that or it was the neighbour’s car alarm.” He didn’t look up. Something had been bothering Douglas for the past few weeks, but he obviously didn’t want to talk about it.

“Very funny, Douglas. See you in a bit.”

Martin headed out into the street. It was bloody freezing, but at least the footpaths weren’t too icy. It would be just his luck to fall and injure himself today. Heading towards the the river, he let his mind wander. He loved Fitton at this time of day. Despite having lived here for years, it’s only in the last few months that he’s really got to know the place. The enforced time off gave him time to explore the back streets and parks, and being forced to travel by foot was an enlightening experience. He had been places and met people he would have passed by before.   
When the cafe had food left over he would take some to share with Nigel, the Big Issue seller. Too heartbroken to leave his wife and daughter, even though they had left him four years ago, Nigel slept in the church graveyard on all but the coldest nights of the year. He told Martin stories about the side of life in Fitton that few residents ever knew existed.

So much had changed in the last six months that sometimes Martin barely felt like himself anymore. He wondered if that was normal after a near death experience. 

Working in the 19th Hole had turned out to be much more interesting than being a man with a van, and the income was more regular too. He found that he had an ability to predict the perfect drink or meal for someone just by looking at them, and it had made him popular with customers. Business was booming, allowing him to take more shifts. 

Between that and Douglas’ stubborn refusal to accept any rent, Martin was more financially stable than he had ever been. He still bought the majority of his clothes from charity shops, but that was mainly because there seemed to have been an influx of decent, well fitting clothes recently. 

His biggest luxury had been to finally upgrade his mobile phone. Nothing too fancy, but it was a monthly contract with free minutes and internet access. Within days he had no idea how he’d ever managed without it. The wealth of information at his fingertips made his head spin. He could practically feel his horizons broadening, even though his feet were stuck on the ground.

Almost without noticing, Martin found that his life no longer revolved around aviation. He missed it, of course he did, and he couldn’t wait to get back in the sky. It was just that flying was no longer the all consuming obsession that it had once been. He knew that was probably a good thing, especially given that there had been a very real chance that he would never fly again. In a way it was liberating, but everything was changing at an alarming pace. He wondered if one day he would look in the mirror and not recognise himself.

Sometimes the world became so sharply focussed that he could see everything, details of life that he previously wouldn’t have noticed. Just by looking at someone he knew all about them, their job, what they’d had for lunch, who they were having an affair with. It wasn’t that he wanted to know these things, or consciously looked for clues. The thoughts seemed to appear fully formed in his head. He knew that these moments of clarity worried Douglas, so he tried to hide them. He frightened himself sometimes, if he was honest. He hadn’t told Douglas about the three other missing pets he’d located. Or the missing boyfriend. It felt good, though, to know the answer when no one else did, to actually have a talent for something. Sometimes, when he was people watching in the coffee shop, he wondered if he should have been a detective rather than a pilot. 

No, he thought as he ran down by the golf course and headed home, he just wanted to get back to MJN so that his life could get back to normal again.

* * *

When Martin opened the flat door, the smell of bacon drifted out. He found Douglas in the kitchen, cooking a breakfast of epic proportions.

“I thought a celebratory full-english might be just the thing.”

“I’m not sure we’re both supposed to eat the same meals this close to flying, are we?” Martin had no intention of saying no, but he thought he should remind Douglas of the rules.

Douglas threw him an exasperated glance. 

“Martin. You’re about to be subjected to Arthur’s culinary adventures for the first time in months. Your digestive system might not cope. I would advise you to eat recognisable food while it’s available.”

“Alright then, if you insist.” Martin smiled.

“How are you feeling?” Douglas asked. “Looking forward to today?”

“I’m fine.” Martin was surprised to find that he was, in fact, fine. His first flight in over six months, and he wasn’t nervous at all. There was a pleasant tingle of excitement and anticipation, but not a trace of nervousness. He was calmer now than he used to be before routine flights. How odd. “I am looking forward to it, actually. How about you?” He asked Douglas.

“Absolutely terrified.”

Martin blinked. It was obviously meant as a joke, but he knew that it was the most honest Douglas had been with him in, well, probably forever. He studied him carefully. For all his newfound insight, Martin found that he had an unfortunate blind spot when it came to working out what Douglas was feeling.

“Really?” He didn’t know what else to say.

“Of course not, Martin. You can’t possibly be a worse pilot than you were before.” Douglas managed to get the usual amount of sarcasm into his voice this time.

“Thanks, Douglas. I knew I could count on your support.”

“Of course you can. You know that.” Douglas looked at him, serious again.

“What’s going on, Douglas?” Martin was starting to worry.

“Martin. You know how I said you could stay until you were back on your feet?.”

Oh. Mrs Fraser had offered to give him shifts to fit around flying, and he was considering selling the van. He was more ‘on his feet’ now than he had been for years. His heart sank.

“You want me to move out.” 

Of course he did. It had only ever been a temporary offer after all. He knew Douglas enjoyed his company, and that he prefered not to live alone. That didn’t necessarily mean that he wanted Martin there permanently though, did it? As far as he knew, Douglas hadn’t dated anyone since his accident, and it seemed he was never single for long. Martin felt like an idiot. He’d even started to think of the flat as their home. He should have seen this coming.

“No.” Douglas said quietly, examining his fingernails and refusing to look Martin in the eye. “Quite the opposite, in fact. I was rather hoping you’d stay.”

“Oh. Right. I just assumed that now I’m going back...”

“Yes. About that.” Douglas still looked uncomfortable. “Are you certain that’s what you want?”

“Of course it is! Why wouldn’t it be?”

“No reason.” Douglas was lying, Martin could tell.

“You think I _shouldn’t_ go back?”

“I think you should do whatever you want, Martin.”

Martin considered that for a moment. For once in his life, he realised, the choice was actually his.

“What I want,” He said carefully, “Is to eat breakfast then go to the airfield and fly Gerti, because as much as I enjoy working in the 19th Hole I’m starting to get bored, and I’ve read almost every book in Fitton library. I want to continue living here, Douglas, for as long as you’ll have me, but you’re going to have to let me start paying rent.”

“Alright then,” Douglas had visibly relaxed. “We’ll work out how much when we know how many shifts you can fit around the schedule.” He turned back to the hob, the conversation was clearly over. “You should probably add ‘take a shower’ to your to do list. I don’t want to be locked in a metal tube with you smelling like that.”

* * *

Carolyn was waiting for them outside the portacabin.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Welcome back, Martin.” She smiled him.

“Skip!” Arthur was running across the carpark towards them.

“Golly,” said Douglas, neatly stepping out of the way. “I had no idea he could move so fast. When did you last have his brakes tested, Carolyn?”

Carolyn declined to reply, choosing instead to move so that Douglas was between her and the oncoming Arthur.

“Welcome back!” Arthur barreled into Martin, engulfing him in a massive hug even as they tumbled towards the ground.

Martin couldn’t help but grin, even though he was lying on the cold floor with Arthur on top of him. Arthur was brilliant at hugging. He would have reciprocated if only he could move his arms. Or legs. Or breathe.

“Arthur, get up.” He heard Carolyn command. 

The world righted itself as Arthur somehow managed to stand up without letting go of him.

“And put Martin down!” Her smile was gone, replaced by a more familiar impatient scowl. “Our passenger for today is waiting in the office. For some reason, she’s asked to meet the crew. Try not to frighten her too much.”

Martin was still brushing bits of car park off himself when Carolyn opened the portacabin door. A beautiful woman in her mid-thirties stepped out. Recently divorced, judging by her shoes. The trip to Paris was a spending spree to celebrate the settlement, Martin decided. She walked past Carolyn and Douglas, and headed straight for him.

“You must be the captain.” There was a predatory edge to her smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Good grief. She was flirting. With him. And she knew he was the captain. He wasn’t even wearing his hat! An old, familiar panic started to rise but Martin swallowed it down and took a deep, calming breath; he could do this.

“The pleasure’s all mine.” He managed without squeaking or stuttering. “I hope you enjoy the flight.” He was aware of Carolyn gaping and Douglas quietly trying not to have a heart attack as he retrieved his hat from the floor by Arthur’s feet and walked towards Gerti’s hangar.

Martin took his time with the walk round, taking in every new scratch and dent that Gerti had acquired in his absence. His smile grew with each step, he couldn’t help it because this felt so comfortable and familiar. It wasn’t just flying he had missed, he realised, MJN had become his family and odd as it seemed, that family included the temperamental plane they flew in.  
He settled himself in his seat and stroked the control panel gently, unconcerned that Douglas was watching.

“I’ve missed you too.” He told Gerti quietly.


	8. Bucharest

“It’s hardly professional, is it?” Martin moaned, eyeing the makeup laid out on the dining table with suspicion.

“Flying passengers and their luggage to their chosen destinations? I’ll admit it’s an odd thing to do, but it’s not the strangest thing MJN have ever done. It isn’t even close.”

“You know what I mean, Douglas.” Martin huffed. “ _This._ ” He gestured at Douglas.

“No, I suppose not.” Douglas conceded, plucking a piece of lint from his maroon velvet frock coat. “It is, however, profitable and we all know how Carolyn enjoys a good profit.” 

Carolyn’s latest money making scheme was novel, at least. They were flying a combined stag and hen party to Bucharest for a long weekend of cycling around the castles of Transylvania and drinking beer. Dressed as vampires. Apparently there was a significant amount of extra cash in it for MJN if they joined in the fun. Carolyn, of course, had been unable to refuse.

“You look utterly ridiculous.” Martin told him.

“I know. Fabulous, isn’t it?” Douglas flashed his fangs at Martin.

“I can’t believe you’re actually enjoying this.”

“Only because you aren’t.” That wasn’t strictly true. For reasons he’d never been able to fathom, Douglas had always enjoyed dressing up. Whenever he was invited to a fancy dress party he always made it his mission to find and wear the most outrageous costume possible. Today was no exception.

Martin obviously didn’t share his enthusiasm. It had taken ages to convince him to make even the smallest effort. In the end, they’d settled on a Twilight style vampire, something that could be achieved with minimum fuss. It had actually worked out quite well, he thought. A minimalist, modern vampire would be the perfect counterpoint to his own over the top, old fashioned version. Martin’s reluctance would make his own outfit look even funnier.

Rather entertainingly, the only thing Martin had had been even remotely interested in was dyeing his hair. It was Martin’s own suggestion that black was a more suitable hair colour for a vampire than ginger. Douglas had refrained from mocking him mercilessly - there would be plenty of time for that on the flight.

Douglas had dressed in his own outfit and put his makeup on while Martin had flitted between his bedroom and the bathroom, refusing to be seen by Douglas until he’d finished colouring his hair.

He’d finally emerged looking sheepish, his hair a mess of black curls, dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans and a slate grey shirt.

“Right then.” Douglas said. “Sit down and let me vamp you up.” 

Martin obeyed and Douglas set about applying makeup to Martin’s face. 

“Dare I ask why you’re so good at all this, Douglas?” Martin asked after a few minutes.

“There was a girl at university. Lucinda. She was in the drama society. They were perpetually short of male cast members. I used to help out in the chorus line every now and then. Lucinda was always suitably grateful.” He explained, waggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

Martin studied him for a moment, and Douglas had to resist the urge to squirm. He felt like Martin was reading his mind. It was happening with increasing regularity and never failed to leave him feeling unnerved.

“A bit more than the chorus, I’d imagine.” Martin stated.

“A little bit.” Douglas conceded. He was certain that Martin also knew that he had never so much as held hands with the girl. At the beginning Douglas’ intentions were less than pure, but he was a natural musician, and the only time he had ever been shy in his life was before the flight to Rotterdam. He’d really enjoyed himself, taking the lead in numerous productions. Naturally, he had been good at it. Better than good, actually. Douglas sometimes thought that if he’d been a bit braver when he was a young man then he would be an actor now, rather than an aging sky god trapped in a laughable excuse for an airline.  
Sometimes, he thought as he applied a little mascara to Martin’s lashes, his life felt like something out of a sitcom.

“There. You’re done.” Douglas stepped back to admire his handiwork. The foundation had made Martin’s already pale skin a shade or two lighter and covered his freckles, while the powder added a faint shimmer. A smudge of eyeliner and the mascara made his eyes look a silvery blue colour. 

Martin stood and walked over to the mirror. 

“Oh.” He breathed, standing straighter as he took in his appearance. It seemed to add a couple of inches to his height. He turned from side to side, staring as if he’d never seen his reflection before.

A sense of unease settled over Douglas; the younger man was completely transformed. He wanted to make a quip about vampires and mirrors, but found that he couldn’t speak.

Oh, indeed.

* * *

Carolyn stood on the tarmac, feeling vaguely ridiculous in the cheapest vampire outfit that Fitton’s fancy dress shop had to offer. She was also cold, cursing the lateness of her pilots. Of course it was too much to ask that Martin’s punctuality would rub off on Douglas. The passengers were milling around, laughing and taking pictures of each other. Arthur was in the portacabin looking for another bin liner with which he could extend his already voluminous cape.

Finally, she saw them, striding towards her across the runway. They were ever so slightly too close to each other, leaning together as they talked. Martin’s coat billowed out behind him like some sort of cloak. In the soft light of sunset it could almost have been a scene out of a movie. Almost. What on _earth_ was Douglas wearing?

“Good evening, fair maiden.” Douglas grinned and performed an elaborate bow. Only Douglas Richardson could be that self assured in a powdered wig. He looked as foolish as she felt. 

“You’re late. Again.” She stuffed both hands into her pockets before he got any ideas about kissing her.

“Sorry, Carolyn. It took a little bit longer than usual to get ready.” He wasn’t even trying to sound sincere.

“Enough of that, Douglas.” She told him. “And don’t even try to convince me that this is Martin’s fault.”

“Evening chaps!” Arthur emerged from the portacabin, where he had clearly been applying most of her favourite of red lipstick to his face. “Wow, Douglas, brilliant fangs! I swallowed mine by accident, and Mum said I can’t have any more.”

“You swallowed them?” Douglas asked, eyebrows climbing.

“Oh, it’s alright,” Arthur reassured him. “They were those sweet ones. I accidentally ate 18 last night when I was getting ready for today, and then I accidentally ate 52 today while I was waiting for now. Actually, come to think of it, I feel a little bit sick. Still, at least I won’t be able to accidentally eat any more now that they’re all gone.”

“Gosh.” Douglas drawled. “I would say it could happen to anyone, Arthur, but it really couldn’t.”

“And Skip, you look brilliant too! More like an alien than a vampire. I mean that in a good way.” Arthur explained. “Not an alien out of Alien. More like a friendly Star Trek alien. Except without the pointy ears. Or the weird eyebrows. Or the funny forehead. Or the...”

“Yes. Thank you, Arthur.” Martin interrupted.

Arthur was surprisingly close to being right, Carolyn thought. She would have gone for otherworldly rather than alien, but they were near enough the same thing. Especially to Arthur. She had no idea what Douglas had done to Martin, but he was a different person. His odd features suddenly seemed to make sense, and he looked stunning. It wasn’t just the hair and makeup, she realised as he strode toward Gerti. The hints of self-confidence that had started to emerge last flight were there in full force now.

The passengers had gone quiet behind her. They had stopped taking photos of each other, and were instead pointing their cameras at Martin. A couple of them were even following him towards the plane. Well, thought Carolyn, how interesting.

Things proceeded to get even more interesting when Martin made the cabin announcements. He spoke a tone or so lower than his normal voice, and about an octave lower than his usual announcing voice. It wasn’t as syrupy as Douglas or Herc in full flow, but it was a nice voice. A very nice voice. One that she could happily listen to for hours. She wasn’t the only one, she realised; several members of the party, both male and female, were fanning themselves.

Carolyn smiled and decided that it might be time to re-record the MJN promotional video.


	9. Bern

They had been on standby for three days now, and Douglas was bored. So very bored. In fact, he was almost as bored as Martin looked. Which was unusual, because Martin could normally fill weeks with protocols and procedures if necessary.

Not this time though. On the first morning, Martin had completed all the necessary paperwork in his usual, efficient manner. He had then retired to the threadbare sofa in the corner and had hardly moved since. He was there now, sprawled out cat-like, totally absorbed by something on his phone. Probably some flight game or other, he thought, sneaking up behind Martin to get a look.

“You’re on _Twitter_?”

Martin sat up and span round to face Douglas, his phone clutched protectively to his chest.

“Yes. Yes I am. So what?” He stammered, blushing to the tips of his ears..

Douglas grinned. It was much harder to get a rise out of Martin these days, making it all the more rewarding when he did.

“Why Martin, I hadn’t realised you were turning into such a social butterfly. Are you on MyFace and SpaceBook too?”

“It’s Facebook, as you very well know. And yes, I am actually.” The flush was already draining from his cheeks. “It’s... interesting. You get to find out things that they never cover in the news.”

“Like what? I don’t care what Stephen Fry had for his breakfast.”

“There’s a _bit_ more to it than that.” A small smile tugged at Martin’s lips. “You’re probably too old to understand, Douglas. You’ll have to ask your daughter to explain it to you.”

Ouch. Martin was getting better at verbal sparring. Douglas was about to respond when a horrible thought occurred to him.

“Is she... Are you... _following_ her?” Stalking. Stalking was definitely the word he was looking for.

Martin looked amused and annoyed in equal parts

"Of course not. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, how could I? You’ve never so much as told me her name.” He sounded exasperated. “Why are you being so weird about this? It’s just something to do while we’re hanging around here all day.”

“I’m not being weird. And since when did you have such difficulty finding things to do when we’re on standby? You’d usually have us reviewing standard operating procedures by now.” Douglas knew he was being unreasonable and probably a little bit weird, but the idea of his daughter having anything to do with Martin Crieff sent shivers down his spine. He’d never thought about it before, when Martin was odd and awkward and ginger. Now, though, he was a father’s nightmare. Even with the auburn roots starting to show through his dark hair he still looked stunning, and Douglas had noticed the way women looked at him with envy. There was no way he wanted his soon-to-be-teenaged daughter to meet Martin. Ever.

Martin studied him in silence for a couple of moments, a puzzled frown creasing his brow.

“I was just bored, Douglas.” He said eventually, lying down again and turning his attention back to his phone. “We can go over some procedures if you really want, though. Shall I call Carolyn and Arthur in?” There was an evil glint in his eye.

Douglas was saved from having to respond by a knock on the door. He opened it to find two men stood there, dressed in matching black suits. He wondered, briefly, which religion they were going to try to sell him.

“MJN Air?” The shorter one asked, examining the dilapidated portacabin with a look of horror on his face.

“At your service.” Douglas bowed slightly. “Mr...?”

“I’m Jackson,” The taller man stepped forward, looking into the office to where Martin was once more sprawled on the sofa, ignoring the visitors. “This ‘ere’s Eric. Mr Jefferson said he were going to call ahead?”

Ah. Mr Jefferson was the passenger of the week. Douglas stepped aside to let them in just as Carolyn burst out of her office.

“Good _morning_ , gentlemen.” She gushed, showing her teeth in what, presumably, was meant to be a smile. “I’ve just finished speaking to Mr Jefferson. Please, take a seat.” She grabbed Martin by the arm and dragged him from the sofa. “Arthur! Coffee!” 

Douglas could only conclude from this horrifying display that Carolyn had somehow convinced Mr Jefferson to pay them above the odds for their admittedly limited services. The two men in front of him didn’t seem to be particularly well off. He wondered what extras would be expected of them this time.

“And where is Mr Jefferson himself?” He asked Carolyn.

“Mr Jefferson will not be flying with us today, but his representatives here will be.” She told them. “Now, get on and do whatever pilot-y things you need to do so that these gentlemen can be on their way as soon as possible.”

Martin wriggled free of Carolyn’s grasp and moved to the desk to do the final pieces of paperwork, while Arthur set about torturing the ancient coffee machine in the corner.

“Will you be joining us on this trip, Carolyn?” Douglas asked.

“Sadly not.” Carolyn didn’t sound sad. “I shall be accompanying Herc to the zoo. He seems to think that taking me to see a variety of cute caged animals will somehow decrease my commitment to being a carnivore. He’s so excited by the prospect that he’s booked online for fast track entry, whatever that might mean. I’d almost rather spend the day hurtling through the sky in a metal tube with you idiots.”

“If you don’t want to go, Mum, we could swap.” Arthur called across the room. “I could go to the zoo, and then you won’t have to. And I _really_ want to see the polar bears.”

“Concentrate on the coffee, Arthur!” Carolyn ground out, still refusing to let go of her tenuous hold on a smile.

“Yes, Carolyn, why don’t you swap and let Arthur go to the zoo?” Douglas prodded.

“Because, Douglas,” she gave in and glared at him, “At least in the zoo the stupid animals are behind bars.”

Eric was watching the exchange with a puzzled expression on his face. Jackson still hadn’t looked away from Martin. Not another one, thought Douglas. In a chilling turn of events, he’d even caught Carolyn trying to flirt with him the other day.  
In return, Martin was giving Jackson short, sideways glances, his expression unreadable. He had his phone in his left hand under the desk while his right hand moved the pen across the paper above. Douglas could see that he wasn’t writing much, but Jackson wouldn’t know that from his lower level on the sofa. Interesting. He wondered what Martin was up to.

The phone in Carolyn’s office rang.

“Oh, who’s that now?” She stomped off to answer it.

Douglas watched her through the door. The conversation was brief, but obviously disappointing. He found himself smiling fondly as she drew herself up to her full height, straightened her jacket and put on her best scowl. Obviously nothing too serious then.

“Change of plan.” Carolyn announced from her office doorway. “Herc’s been called in to work. Apparently one of the Air Caledonia pilots has just been picked up by the police for drugs trafficking. It looks like you shall be going to the zoo after all, Arthur. We’ll go for steak afterwards, so we can send Herc the pictures.”

“Right.” Arthur frowned. “But what about the in-flight refreshments?”

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it.” Eric told Arthur, forcing down a second mouthful of the coffee Arthur had given him. “‘sonly a short flight. Ain’t that so, Jackson?”

“Yeah. Right.” Jackson responded, distantly, never taking his eyes off Martin.

* * *

Martin sat still as a statue, eyes closed, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth, clearly deep in thought. He’d said the bare minimum during take off and hadn’t spoken since. Suddenly he sucked in a deep breath through his nose and his eyes flew open.

“Oh... _idiot_...” He blinked a couple of times before looking over at Douglas, as if he’d forgotten he was there. “Is it alright if I just...” He looked over his shoulder at the cabin door. “I mean, I need to... well...”

“You don’t have to ask permission to use the facilities, Martin. I have control.”

“Right. Thanks.” Martin bolted from the cabin.

Douglas blinked in surprise when he heard him lock the flight deck door behind him. They hardly ever even shut the door, let alone locked it. He wondered what was going on. 

When Martin returned a few moments later he looked pale and flustered.

“Douglas. Do you trust me?” He asked quietly

“Of course.” The temptation to tease Martin was immense, but Douglas found he was too worried. “What’s going on.”

“I think...” He took a deep breath before starting again. “Those men are going to try to hijack Gerti.”

“What? Where on earth have you got that idea from?” Douglas wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

“I don’t know.” Martin raked his hands through his hair, obviously distressed. “I just... It’s obvious, but I don’t know why...”

“You are, of course, aware of how ridiculous this sounds?”

“Of course I am!” Martin rubbed his forehead, there was a sheen of sweat on his face and he looked more like his old self than he had in months. It wasn’t reassuring. “I went to talk to them just now. I wanted to check, but... I just... I don’t know...”

It did sound ridiculous, it truly did. But then, Martin had been displaying something of a knack for this sort of thing recently. Not on this scale, of course, but still. He couldn’t bring himself to dismiss his claims outright.

“Alright then, Martin.” Douglas said in his most soothing voice, trying to ground the younger man. “Explain it to me, like you did with the lady in the cafe. Start from the beginning.”

“This isn’t like finding someone’s dog, Douglas!”

“I know that, but I need you to explain it to me because I don’t understand.”

Martin gave Douglas an irritated look, but nodded and took a deep breath.

“Okay.” He said. “Well. They’re obviously second rate, violent criminals.”

“The _beginning_ , Martin. All the details.”

“Their hands show that they don’t work in an office. Not soft enough for desk work, not calloused enough for manual labour.” Martin glanced ruefully at his own hands. “Their suits are new, but they’re they’re cheap; From ASDA. The shoes, on the other hand are old. Old shoes, that have been cleaned and carefully polished, but not worn that often.”

“So?” Douglas prompted gently. Martin was already visibly calmer, his confidence growing with every deduction.

“So someone’s chartered a jet to fly them to Switzerland for a meeting. That doesn’t usually happen to people who wear suits they bought from the supermarket and old shoes.”

“Maybe not,” Douglas had to agree. “But that doesn’t make them criminals.”

“It does explain all the facts, though. Our friends spend most of their time in jeans and trainers, and only wear suits on special occasions. But on this occasion where they need to dress smartly neither of them had a suit to wear. Neither of them had a suit in the wardrobe, despite the fact they both have shoes. They both had to buy new, and did it in the same shop at the same time. Unlikely, don’t you think?”

Martin’s eyes were alight as he explained. Douglas couldn’t remember ever seeing him look so animated, so alive.

“More likely is that they buy suits for the rare occasions that they need them, then get rid of them afterwards.” He continued. “But why? Why not simply put the suit back in the wardrobe with the shoes? Perhaps their suits get damaged, perhaps they get dirty. They don’t get them cleaned or repaired though. So, evidence of criminal activity, probably blood. The sort of thing dry cleaners tend to get squeamish about. But they haven’t thought about the shoes. There are probably traces of several different people’s blood in the stitching of their shoes. They think it’s enough to scrub and polish the shoes despite the fact that they’ve burned the suits. They’re idiots.” Martin concluded with a sniff.

“None of this means that they plan to hijack Gerti.” Douglas pointed out.

“When I was talking to them, they were both nervous, Eric especially. They’re going to do something they don’t normally do. It’s a last minute change of plan, something they’ve come up with themselves.”

“Right. Let us, for now, assume that all this adds up to a hijacking attempt. I’m not convinced that it does, but we can pretend for now. I have two questions. One, are our idiots armed idiots?”

Martin was suddenly very still. He bobbed his head in a tiny nod.

“Guns and knives.” He said. “Jackson has a holster on his back and a knife in his sock. Eric has a pistol in his jacket pocket.”

“Alright then.” Douglas felt a rising tide of anger; the thugs weren’t the only idiots on board. “Question two, and I want you to concentrate, Martin, because question two is the important one. Did you somehow arrange for that Air Cal pilot to be arrested so that Arthur wouldn’t be here?”

Martin nodded again, not meeting Douglas’ gaze.

“He was trafficking drugs. I simply pointed the police in the right direction.”

“That’s not the point, Martin. You knew they were criminals the moment they stepped into the office.”

“Yes, alright. I knew they were criminals when I saw them. I thought it was best if Arthur was out of the way.” Martin huffed. He sounded annoyed, and Douglas felt his temper snap.

“But you didn’t think it would be best to call the police in Fitton? Of course not! You thought it would be best to welcome them onto Gerti. You thought it would be best to take to the skies with hijackers on board. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I didn’t have any proof!" Martin exclaimed. "I still don’t. Can you imagine what Carolyn would have done to me if I’d called the police? I just knew they were up to something. At first I thought it was smuggling; flying out to bring something back on the return journey, probably technology given the luggage they had with them. I thought we’d be okay, Douglas, but they’ve changed their plans. I’m sorry. I didn’t work it out until we were in the air.”

Douglas took a deep breath and blew it out, forcing himself to calm down. Martin was right, there was very little he could have done without proof, and arguing about it would get them nowhere. He was still frustrated, though.

“You could have told me.” Douglas pointed out, quietly.

“What good would it have done?” Martin sighed. “It would have made no difference, and you were keeping them distracted by annoying Carolyn. I couldn’t have kept Arthur safe without that.”

“Alright.” Douglas conceded. “We can’t do anything about it now anyway. What I still don’t understand is why would anyone want to hijack Gerti”

Martin hesitated a moment.

“Me.” He said. “I know this sounds stupid, but Jackson changed his mind when he saw me.”

“You?” Douglas could feel his eyebrows climbing in disbelief. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but why would they want to kidnap you?”

“I don’t know. But... did you see Jackson looking at me in the office?”

“I just thought he fancied you!” Douglas took in Martin’s blank expression. “What? For goodness sake, Martin! You’ve surely noticed that you’ve been getting a certain amount of attention recently?”

“No... I... Really?” Martin frowned at him. “That’s umm... well...”

“Martin.” Douglas interrupted, worried that they were drifting in entirely the wrong direction. “Why are they doing this? What could they possibly want with you?”

“No idea, Douglas.” Martin shrugged “He must have mistaken me for someone else, I can’t think of any other explanation.”

“And you have no proof of any of this?”

“None. It’s probably a bad idea to sit here waiting for them to make their move, though.”

“So basically, what you’re saying is, we have hijackers on board and you need me to think of something clever in order to get them to show their hand?”

“Exactly.” Martin looked at him hopefully.

“Sounds like fun.” Douglas smiled.

* * *

In the end, it had been almost embarrassingly easy to overthrow the two men. Martin had been spot on with all of his deductions, including the one about their intelligence levels. The plan hadn’t been one of Douglas’ most clever; it hadn’t needed to be. Still, at least he now had a good story to tell about the time he foiled a hijack attempt with nothing more than a roll of sellotape, a bowl of leftover surprising rice, and a smartphone.

Douglas let out a shaky breath. The adrenaline was starting to wear off and the reality of what they’d done was sinking in. It was one thing to freeze Gordon to Gerti, or steal enough fuel to drive an aeroplane to a nearby airstrip by road. It was quite another to intentionally antagonise armed men. Things had gone rather well though, and had all been over surprisingly quickly. And it had been fun in a way. It wasn’t an experience he planned to repeat any time soon though. 

Martin, on the other hand, seemed to thrive on the whole experience. He had been a bit panicky initially, but once Douglas had talked him down he’d behaved as though he dealt with violent criminals on a daily basis. He had restrained the men with alarming efficiency, then herded them off towards one of the maintenance huts on the airfield for ‘a little chat’ as soon as they’d landed back at Fitton.

Douglas had been left alone to do all the post-landing checks. He hoped Martin didn’t expect him to do the paperwork as well. He decided to find him and tell him as much.

The airfield was still and quiet. The ground crew appeared to have abandoned their posts the moment Gerti was safely landed. They were probably sheltering from the cold in the Hose and Hydrant. Douglas pulled his coat around himself and walked quietly over to the maintenance hut. Jackson and Eric were sat on the floor back to back, tied together. There was no sign of Martin. Douglas pressed himself against the wall and worked his way closer to the open window until he could hear as well as see them.

“I told you it weren’t ‘im.” Eric moaned at his friend. 

“Wasn’t him.” Martin stepped from the shadows.

“What?” Eric looked confused.

“I told you it _wasn’t_ him. Which begs the question; who did you think I was?” Martin asked.

“No-one.” Jackson said. “We just thought... well, Eric here’s got a terrible memory for faces. It were a mistake.”

Eric turned as far as he could and tried to glare at Jackson, clearly unhappy at being saddled with the blame.

“ _Was_ a mistake.” Martin corrected again. “I’m going to ask you once more. Who did you mistake me for?” He towered over them, eyes cold and threatening. “The police aren’t even aware that you are in here. There are a couple of ways this could go for you. One involves the two of you walking out of here free men. The other...” He paused for a moment to glance over at the oxy-acetylene welding kit in the corner. “Doesn’t. Now. For the last time. _Who_?”

“No-one. Not really. We thought you was... _were_... that detective fella, but he’s dead.” Eric spoke up, sounding nervous. “I _told_ you it couldn’t be him.” He hissed over his shoulder at Jackson.

“Does he have a name, this ‘detective fella’?” Martin asked.

“Something Holmes. It were... _was_... an odd name... I can’t remember...”

“Try harder.” Martin pulled on a pair of welding gauntlets, and moved toward the corner.

“I can’t remember, I swear it.” Eric snivelled.

Martin must have believed him because he took off the gloves and crossed the floor to face Eric, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“You were going to hijack an aeroplane because you mistook me for a dead man, whose name you can’t remember. You’re bigger idiots than I thought. Who were you going to deliver me to?”

“We thought Mr Troy might be interested. The boss, Mr Jefferson, says Mr Troy thinks he’s still alive.”

“Mr Troy?”

“Amir Troy. Some new investor. Started putting money into the firm about six months ago. Lots of money, that’s how the boss could afford to charter a flight. I think I preferred it before.” Eric sounded genuinely regretful.

“And where might I find this Amir Troy?”

“Don’t know. Even the boss hasn’t met him. Don’t know anyone who has.”

“Well. Thank you for the chat gentlemen, you’ve been most helpful.” Martin smiled and stepped back, suddenly Martin again. “Thank you for flying MJN air.” He turned on his heel and strode towards the door.

Douglas took a couple of moments to collect himself. Martin had been terrifying - even Douglas wasn’t certain that he wouldn’t harm the prisoners in order to gain the information he wanted. The old fear that all was not right with his friend settled on him, and he wondered what he could do about it.

“Douglas.”

The voice in his ear made Douglas jump, and his already hammering heart seemed to leap into his throat.

“Jesus, Martin!” He whispered. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Why are you whispering?” The corner of Martin’s mouth quirked up in a half smile.

“I don’t know.” Douglas whispered before realising what he was doing and trying again. “I don’t know. I’m not exactly up on the etiquette of how to behave when I find my Captain about to torture two hijackers in a shed!”

“I was _acting_ , Douglas.” Martin nudged him with his elbow. “Come on. The police are on their way, and I’m starving. Gino owes me a free pizza.”

Douglas doesn’t want to know what Martin’s done to earn that. All he wants is to go home, have a cup of tea and pretend that today never happened. God, he feels old. Martin’s positively bouncing though.

“Why are you so happy?” Douglas asked, not even attempting to keep the concern from his voice. “They were going to hijack an aeroplane in order to kidnap you. Doesn’t that worry you at all?”

“Of course it does. It’s something interesting to think about though.” Martin shrugged. “It might even keep me off Twitter for a while.”


End file.
